


at least life isn't boring

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where a lot of weird and average things happen, Dave Strider is the kid who just wishes that something DIFFERENT will happen to him, because he is that fucking bored.</p><p>He gets John Egbert. It's actually a neat deal, various inexplicable (and mildly concerning) things occurring notwithstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at least life isn't boring

**Author's Note:**

> In response to the theme: Taboo. Hope you guys like it! (Thanks to onewayworld on tumblr for being a helpful and awesome friend as I wrote this epic down ;w; You rock!)

"They say lying with another man is a sin," John whispers with a nigh hysterical giggle. His voice cracks at the last word, his eyes close, and he leans into Dave with his full weight, his face hidden in the crook of Dave's neck and shoulder. The abandoned building is dimly lit with moonlight, slivers of it crawling over John's neck, shoulder, arms, and he looks beautiful, untouchable, but he's holding onto Dave with shaky hands and a tight grip, and Dave was never taught by his brother to deny himself what he wants. So he holds John close, presses butterfly kisses into his hair, and ignores the blood seeping into his clothes and John's, because he doesn't particularly care about dirtying this one shirt. It's already red, anyway.

 

"We both know that that doesn't really matter, at this point," Dave says, bony fingers carding through black locks as he closes his own eyes, burying his nose in John's hair as he breathes slowly. "Besides, I'm thinking killing a man ranks higher than sodomy, the latter something we've yet to even commit. I mean, I'm pretty sure the big man up high won't even care, considering how he-"

 

"-exists," John finishes, his teeth grazing Dave's neck in warning. "That's an argument you don't want to have with me again, Dave. Trust me."

 

Dave shifts then, ignoring the fresh bite mark on his neck. He looks at John, remembers the impossibility of his blue eyes, his black hair, his dark complexion- the impossibility of  _him_ , and Dave feels humbled, and angry, and tired, but he holds John close anyway, because he can at least permit himself this. The place isn't right, there's blood on his shirt and hands, and John is quietly shaking in his arms while they both stand beside the still bleeding corpse of Jack Noir. It smells putrid, like death, and he wants to take John home, but they're both too shaky to walk right now. "I know, John," he says, feeling John relaxing into him within seconds, and he sighs. "I know."

 

He knows far too well, but he stays. He stays, because he's already gone off the deep-end, fallen in love with someone he wasn't (allegedly) supposed to be in love with, and would it really change anything if he stopped now?

 

Besides. It's pretty worth it, as far as average (and boring) lifestyles go.

 

 

****

 

 

It starts when Dave is seventeen (all bones and recklessness and frustration) and alone in the library, the silence a paradox of suffocation and calm as he waits for something to happen. He's idly flipping through a book of poems, not really knowing if he's looking for inspiration or making use of his time by criticizing dead people, his eyes never really looking anywhere, never really seeing anything. 

 

He's fucking bored.

 

He checks his phone, sighs when he finds another message from Rose. It says, "Try making something if you're really in the deep-end of boredom, Dave."

 

"i draw comics, thats making something," he texts back, "but it isnt really helping me in my crisis whatsoever"

 

He slides his phone back into his pocket once that's done, and goes back to flipping through the pages of the book of poetry while making his way around the shelves. Not once does he look up while navigating his way around to his permanent table, which is sitting by the window facing east, so he's none too pleasantly surprised when he tries to stretch his legs out and finds that there's something blocking his way.

 

"Sorry," says the thing- person, blocking his legs from their much needed stretching. He pulls his feet back as soon as he hears the voice, only minimally sorry about pushing his feet against him. "You're pretty distracted by your book, huh?"

 

"Enough to not have noticed you, apparently," Dave says, looking up, before swallowing any further words when he notices blue eyes. "Uh."

 

"My name's John," blue-eyes says, grinning in amusement. Calling the guy blue-eyes isn't really doing him any justice, considering how his face is just the right amount of rounded and chiseled while his black hair is ridiculously and gorgeously tousled, enough to distract Dave from continuing with his (non-)reading. "Do you usually visit the library this early in the morning?"

 

"Only when I'm deadly bored," Dave says, relaxing into his seat when he notices John eyeing his stiff shoulders. "Name's Dave. I could ask you the same thing, though."

 

"This is the only place I know that's quiet enough. Not that I'm particularly inclined to silence, but sometimes it's good, y'know?" John smiles, piano fingers tracing idle lines along the spine of the book in front of him. 

 

"I know." Dave lets a twitch of a smile show on his face. "I'm not much for silence myself, but I can appreciate it. Countless metaphors for calm and peace and all that."

 

John chuckles in disbelief at the statement, his grin all languidness when he leans forward, saying, "Really? You look the type to enjoy it." 

 

"Believe me, if I could have a dollar for every time I let my mouth run away from me, I'd be a millionaire." John laughs at the notion- and really, you'd think Dave would be annoyed by now with how often John does it, but it's got enough charm on its own for Dave to not mind it. He looks down at his book, licks his lips as he thinks, before turning his gaze up to John, thankfully keeping himself from reacting when he notices John leaning over to look at him. "What's your opinion on B-rated movies?"

 

"The very best," John says.

 

Seems like something's happening to him, after all.

 

 

 

****

 

 

"Dave, you just need to crack the egg on the edge of the bowl."

 

"Does it look like I'm not trying?" Dave asks, giving John the side-eye as he gives the egg-cracking another go. It takes one, two, three times before the egg breaks, all over Dave's hand. He groans, leaning over the countertop with a grimace. "Goddamnit."

 

"This is just sad," John says, trying for a commiserating expression, before giving in within two seconds and bursting into laughter. "My god. You can handle a sword, but you can't handle a fucking egg?"

 

"Don't be a dick," Dave says, making a face at his hand before heading to the sink and washing the yolk off his palm. "Not everyone is as good at handling eggs as you are. Bet you whisper sweet nothings into the unfertilized thing too, you creep."

 

"You can't crack an egg open," John says, attempting to wiggle his eyebrow at Dave, but ultimately ending up with a constipated expression because raising an eyebrow is a thing he can barely even do. "That's perfectly fine, man," he says, trying to be comforting as he pats Dave's back. "I mean, not everyone is good at handling swords either."

 

"Fuck you," Dave settles for saying, because he isn't sure if John is aware of the double entendre in his own words. John only grins, laughs at him, and Dave really shouldn't let it happen, shouldn't even let himself think it, but John's happiness is contagious despite how sick he feels of fighting with his brother at home.

 

It's five months in of their friendship and John may as well be the ecstasy to his misery, but Dave will only ever admit that after four years, when he's already in far too deep to let go.

 

 

****

 

 

It's ten months after the library incident, ten months after their intense argument over the merits of cake (be it ready-made or not), that Dave asks John to move in with him, because it's not that hard to notice how he always looks well-slept only when he stays the night, how his clothes are limited to five shirts and two jeans, how Dave has never caught him, not even once, stepping into a house that's his own.

 

John sputters, already spouting bull about how dumb his arguments sound, but he quiets down instantly when Dave says that Bro's leaving to be with his girlfriend ("Best friend," Bro would correct), and that it'd be really convenient if he had someone with him to help with house matters. (If anyone ever asks John, he'll say that it was Dave whining about being alone that got him to give in, although Dave would never admit to that.)

 

Dave doesn't ask why John doesn't have a home, doesn't ask about his parents, not even when he notices John staring at him from the corner of his eyes because he's confused about Dave's motives. Curiosity isn't as prevalent in his mind as his respect for John's privacy is, and while he wants John to trust him with anything and everything, he also knows that for each thing there's a time.

 

He's already asked the guy to live with him (to which said guy answered with a hesitant 'yes') because he has nowhere else to go. He might as well learn to wait for the other stuff to happen on their own pace.

 

 

****

 

 

"Do you believe in God?"

 

"That," Dave begins, turning his gaze from the ceiling to John, "is a really big non sequitur, right there."

 

"I've been thinking about it for a while," John admits with a shrug. Dave doesn't know if John knows what he's doing, if he's aware of his fingers tracing circles on Dave's legs while Dave is keeping them on John's lap, but he doesn't say anything to acknowledge it. It feels nice, somewhat.

 

"I'm not a religious guy, if that answers your question."

 

John rolls his eyes at that, before slapping one warm hand on Dave's foot. "You don't have to be religious to believe in God, Dave. Just tell me if you do or if you don't, I'm not gonna judge you."

 

"The pressure is overwhelming, I think I need my salts," Dave says, pulling his feet away from John's lap so he can sit up with his back against the arm rest. John makes a funny face at those words, while Dave continues with, "It's possible that there's a higher being out there who made everything in the universe, while it's also possible that science is a crazy-as-shit motherfucker that just decided to make everything with one big explosion." He pauses, before raising an eyebrow at John. "What do you think?"

 

John is silent for a moment, brows furrowed and lips downturned, until he says, "I know there's a God. I just wish I could believe in Him."

 

Dave blinks, subconsciously pursing his lips in thought as he props his chin on his knees. When he looks back up at John, he's met with a smile, though it doesn't feel the same. He looks almost sad, if Dave tried to put it into words. "Is that ever going to make sense to me?"

 

"Someday," John promises.

 

 

****

 

 

It takes two years before Dave notices the little oddities, the quirks that are both curious and mildly worrying, if only because John is a certain type of normal, all politeness with a touch of snark, up until you spend two years living with him. By then, when he's already wormed his way into Dave's life, it's a little too late to reconsider their friendship- although when Dave thinks on it, it's nigh impossible to even take the offer back, because John's that cross of human and kitten that latches onto you until you give in from the sheer charm.

 

The thing is, those oddities are just small things. The true problem is the fact that John is very secretive and panicky about certain small things, which incites this concern in Dave that he can't help thinking about. (It's his best friend he's talking about, for god's sake.)

 

John pays half of the rent, which is unnecessary, but awesome. John cooks, more often than Dave does, does his half of the laundry, watches TV (and unironically loves Nic Cage, more's the pity), plays the piano and hates Monday mornings. He drinks hot cocoa every night as a ritual, works as a part-time waiter for some fast-food chain that Dave can't seem to recall, and he's in love with Liv Tyler.

 

But he murmurs things that Dave can't understand when he thinks no one is around to listen, he draws weird little symbols on his palm and on paper and on the walls, he always walks like there's something weighing him down physically, and whenever Dave asks John about it, he just gets this weird look on his face like he's torn between lying (badly) and not answering at all.

 

"It's something to protect us," John says one day when Dave asks, hesitant as he finishes drawing a circle around the set of symbols. "Sort of a lucky charm that my mom taught me, before," he trails off, eyes looking glassy with reminiscing, until he snaps out of it with a choked up laugh. "Before she died."

 

Dave asks, because he pretty much has to, "Want to talk about it?"

 

"No," John says, looking down at the thing he's just finished drawing beside the door. "Not yet."

 

And, much as Dave wants to know what happened, he still knows better than to push. So he waits.

 

He can, at least, understand what it's like to lose someone.

 

 

****

 

 

John doesn't know when it starts. 

 

When Dave had asked him to moved in, he had been wary from the beginning. He didn't know how long it had been from the first time they'd met, didn't know if it's enough time for something real, for friendship that John has never really had in the past six years of his life. But he says yes because he knows it's for his own good, and for Dave's, because John knows that he feels lonely even when he doesn't say it in his words. Of course, the apartment doesn't feel like home instantly, and he walks inside it like it's dangerous territory, but he learns to get used to it after a while.

 

It's the other things, bigger things, that change without him noticing it, and it feels overwhelming, like letting go without ever really meaning to. All too suddenly, he's laughing with Dave, asking him about God, telling him about his mother's runes, and being  _attached_  to him. When Dave pats him on the back, right by his shoulder blades, he'd first reacted with apprehension, tensed up minimally while inching away from cold hands, but now he's letting it happen, leaning into the touch like it's something comforting, as he'd always done when his own family did it.

 

Dave feels like home before he can even consider it as a possibility, and if that's not the scariest fucking thing, then he doesn't know what is. 

 

 

 

****

 

 

"My parents were killed when I was eleven."

 

John is standing by the doorway when he says it, staring at Dave, who's lying on his bed. That is, until he scrambles to sit up and blinks wide (and unhindered) red eyes up at John. He steps closer, cautiously, but that stops when Dave makes room for him on his bed. He sits on the space Dave makes for him, dull nails idly scratching at his outer thighs as he continues, "I'd just come home from school when I saw the guy in my house, sticking a knife in my mom's heart. My dad was already dead by then, and I," he trails off, sucking in a breath, before starting when Dave places a hand on his twitching one. "I was really scared, and angry, and I froze. I didn't know what else to do."

 

Dave, for once, is silent at that. So John goes on and says, "He killed them because of a grudge, I guess you could say. They weren't- my mom and dad weren't exactly," he lets out a breath, smiling shakily when Dave squeezes his hand, "they weren't allowed to be together. You'd think that a murderer's only capable of lying, and I really thought that he was at first, but things made sense. It explained why mom always stayed at home, why I just felt- different. I didn't feel right, not when I saw other kids my age. It's like when you're getting used to your skin, when you're growing up?" He shrugs, looking helpless as he turns his hand around and clasps Dave's hand in his. "He told me I was damned. That I was a monster."

 

" _That asshole_ -"

 

"-was telling the truth," John finishes, breath hitching. "I just- he  _was_ , and that's the thing that really hurts. I'm not supposed to exist, Dave. I'm a freak-"

 

" _Don't_ ," Dave says, wrenching his hand away from John's to place both of his hands on either side of John's head. "Don't fucking say that. I don't know what the hell his problem was, I don't know why he has a grudge against your parents, but I sure as hell know that you're not a freak."

 

John shakes his head, his own quaking hands clasping around Dave's wrists, although he himself doesn't know what he intends to do- if he's trying to push Dave away, or keep him close. "You don't understand, Dave. I-"

 

"Then let me understand," Dave says, voice soft, thumbs wiping away the tears brimming in John's eyes. John hiccups when he hides a sob, his hands tight in their grip on Dave's wrists, until he lets go and falls into Dave with his face hidden in his shoulder. "What's a best friend for if you can't tell him anything?"

 

"A convenient test subject for when I want to try a new prank?" John says with a weak laugh, still tense, until Dave moves his arms to wrap them around John's back. The tight hold is enough to make John slump forward, half-relaxing in Dave's arms as he breathes in slowly. "But...yeah, that too."

 

"Thanks," Dave drawls, reaching up to absently stroke black locks. "Are you gonna tell me now, or am I gonna have to pretend that I don't mind not knowing to respect your privacy as my best bro?"

 

John laughs, the sound of it muffled as he keeps his face hidden in Dave's shoulder. It takes five minutes before John's laughter dies down into tiny giggles, then into nothing, and by the end he's mostly hanging onto Dave like a limp doll."Sorry," he says, the sheepish smile obvious from his small voice, "I don't think I can, just yet."

 

"You don't have to say sorry, man. It's cool," Dave hums as he absently strokes black locks. "Just know that I'm here to listen."

 

John laughs, shaking his head as he does so. "I know, Dave," he says. "I know."

 

 

****

 

 

More than twice, John has caught Dave staring at the set of swords hanging on the wall. This would be fine, usually, but more often than not, John feels that Dave is a little sadder than he lets on. (Horrible side-effects of empathy, and all that.) "They're not like my swords," Dave says when John asks, a little out of it as he lies on the futon in front of the aforementioned swords. "Mine are pretty shitty, frankly speaking. Not that it lessens my skills or anything."

 

"So. are they yours now? Your bro  _did_  leave them behind." John says. He regrets those words once he notices Dave's blank expression twisting into something sad, almost lonely, but the frown disappears when John opens his mouth to apologize. "Um."

 

"Nah," Dave says, rolling over on his stomach to better regard John. "They're just here for safe-keeping, mostly. Roxy, Bro's girlfriend, tends to experiment on shit a lot. One of these things," he says while gesturing with one hand to the set of swords, "is littered with some sort of mineral components, not too sure if they're radioactive or not. I'm not planning on touching any of those things, either way."

 

"That doesn't sound very safe," John says, earning a laugh from Dave. It might make him feel a little happy himself, considering how Dave isn't prone to laughing as he is. 

 

"They're swords; they're never fucking safe," Dave says, laughing still as he wipes at his eyes with his palms. 

 

"I guess not," John says. "What does that say about you and your brother, then?"

 

"Do you honestly want me to pull a metaphor out of my pocket? Here I thought you said you hated it when I did that," Dave says, smirking when he notices John rolling his eyes at him. "Don't be like that, John. We both know that you love the sound of my voice."

 

"Yeah, 'course I do," John says. "When you're asleep."

 

Dave raises an eyebrow. "I don't sleep-talk."

 

John grins, leaning forward from his place on the couch until there are a few inches of space between his face and Dave's raised head. "Exactly."

 

"Asshole," Dave says with a roll of his eyes, before settling back on his futon. "My brother and I are dangerous. That should sum up our relationship with swords."

 

When Dave closes his eyes and covers the upper half of his face with his folded arms, John thinks there might be something more. 

 

Dave doesn't say anything else, though.

 

 

****

 

 

" _I break the most important things_ ," Dave would have said, had he felt the flare of dramatics for it.

 

But John doesn't need his slice of problems, so he doesn't say anything.

 

 

****

 

 

"John, where the hell did you buy this."

 

John shrugs at the question, trying not to laugh when Dave keeps turning the knife around in his hands like it'll suddenly change into something else. While John isn't one for weapons, he can still admit that the knife looks beautiful, what with the wooden handle and the rune carvings on it. "I didn't buy that. It's a heirloom, of sorts. Mom left it to me when I was ten, said that it was a ritual thing."

 

Dave gives him a bewildered look- and it's the most of any emotion from Dave that he's gotten in a while, so he grins in triumph. Maybe puffs his chest up a bit too, because it's definitely an achievement. Dave says, flailing a bit from his portion of the futon, "Dude, I can't take this. Are you crazy? This thing's beautiful, you can't just-"

 

"You think it's beautiful, Dave," John says, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. "I don't even like handling knives. Besides, it'd be more respectful to my mom to give it to someone who can appreciate it, right?"

 

Dave looks half-nervous at the thought. John is sure that Dave honestly wants the knife, if it wasn't already obvious from his blatant ogling of the thing, then from how he was clutching onto it like he doesn't want to let go. "Man, you sure about this? I mean, I love the thing already, but, y'know, it was passed down to you. Are you sure that your mom won't hit me with lightning in heaven?"

 

"I think she loves you," John says, taking deep satisfaction in the light flush on Dave's face. "I wouldn't be surprised if she knew you before I knew you, because knives- or any other sharp things, aren't really my thing. That knife is yours, dude. I swear to my mom in Heaven."

 

"Fuck," Dave breathes out, looking intensely relieved as he eyes the knife in his hands again, before looking up at John. "I love you."

 

John swallows back any other words at that, blinking at Dave. Eventually, he says, "Is that supposed to mean what I think it means?"

 

Dave, in turn, blinks at him in confusion, before becoming wide-eyed in realization. "I- uh," he begins, scratching at his side with dull nails (as he's prone to doing whenever he's feeling especially nervous), before shrugging in an attempt to look casual about it. "It can mean however you want it to mean?"

 

"Dave, you're twenty years old and I just gave you a knife as a gift," John says, inwardly hoping that he doesn't look as hot as he's feeling. "At least try to be a man with your feelings."

 

"Shut up, you're not any better," Dave says, blinking a little faster when John noticeably leans into him. "Uh." He clears his throat, settling the hand with the knife down on the futon, before making a small surprised sound when John slaps him lightly on the cheek. "Dude, what-"

 

"Shut up," John says, grinning as he leans in, stopping when he notices Dave getting cross-eyed from staring at him. "You know what."

 

"You fucking dork," Dave says in turn, before leaning in and ( _finally_ ) kissing him.

 

It's an awesome 20th birthday, as far as birthdays go. 

 

 

****

 

 

It continues for two years, this peace Dave thinks he has with his best friend (and boyfriend, miraculously enough), until it doesn't.

 

He's just returned from his work as one of the DJs at the club closest to their house when it happens, whatever "it" was, and he's met with an angry and panicked John, who looks at him like he's something dangerous- Dave thinks, helplessly, "maybe he's figured it out", because it's impossible that John doesn't know of how good he is at breaking things- but John blinks that fear away when Dave shuts the door behind him, almost like he's just snapped out of a trance.

 

"You okay?" Dave asks, letting his bag drop on the futon as he comes closer, both hands coming up to hold John's head still. "You're feeling a bit cold, babe."

 

"Don't call me babe," John says, as he usually does. But his voice is shaky, his pupils are dilated, and his tone is weak, and they're enough reason for Dave to worry.

 

"Something happened," Dave says. John turns wide eyes up at him when he says as much, before pulling away from Dave's hold like he's on fire. "John-  _John_! What the hell is wrong?"

 

"He said I couldn't be with you," John says, the panic returning full- force as he walks briskly for the door, "He said- he said that I was just like my mom, that I was just making everything happen all over again." Dave follows, as he always does, one half of him resigned to the idea of John leaving, the other half desperate for a reason, because he loves John, goddamnit. No amount of self-pity or half-assed excuses would be enough to make him give up.

 

But John stops once he's at the door, drops down to his knees, before reaching under his shirt, his hand coming out bloody and red. "Holy fuck- John, _what the hell happened_?"

 

John freezes at that, staring at the wall for a moment, before looking up at Dave. "I- I-"

 

Dave makes a move to grab John by the shoulders before can finish, saying, "We need to get you to a hospital-"

 

" _No_!" John yells, looking bewildered at the idea as he pries himself out of Dave's hold. "I'm fine. I'll be fine," he insists in a whisper, before turning forward and dragging his bloody fingers along the wall, drawing what looks to be a rune on the space beside the door.

 

Dave stops him as soon as he finishes the circle, his eyebrows furrowed as he searches John face for hints of blanking out. "You're bleeding enough to fill up a blood bank, we need to go, _John_ -"

 

"You don't understand, Dave," John croaks out, one clean hand rising to cup Dave's cheek, stopping Dave from succumbing to a panic attack. "I'll heal. I'm- I heal faster. Faster than you, or anyone else. I'll be fine, I swear."

 

"I really don't fucking understand what you're trying to say here," Dave says, breathing slowly as he leans into John's hand. John smiles when he notices it, before using his bloodied hand to raise his shirt (Dave belatedly notes that it's one of his red ones which he'd thought had disappeared from the laundry basket), revealing one small stab wound slowly patching itself up, until it's gone, as though no bleeding ever took place.

 

"What the hell," Dave whispers, one hand lowering to touch the unmarred skin.

 

"I know," John says, his soft laughter bordering on hysterical as he hides his face in the crook of Dave's neck and shoulder. "I know, Dave."

 

 

****

 

 

It's one thing to find out that your boyfriend has always been straight and he's been using you because you're convenient, and that's something that Dave had been expecting as one of the worst case scenarios- which was already impossible, considering John's genuinely nice personality.

 

It's a whole other ball game to find out that his boyfriend isn't human.

 

"Let me get this straight," Dave says, elbows on his knees as he fits his chin on his clipped fingers, "you're half-human. Your mom was an angel, your dad fell in love with her a la City of Angels- which explains a lot about your adoration for Nic Cage-, and they were both killed by a demon who were under orders from Lucifer. Those things," he says, gesturing to the bloody runes on the door and the wall, "are runes, which are for protection, to keep demons away- which is a little late, considering the demon who gave you a little visit earlier." John flinches at that, but Dave continues with, "You speak Enochian because your mother taught you, and the reason that you never show your naked back is because-"

 

"-of my wings, which were gone as soon as I became ten," John finishes, looking weary as he leans on the couch, his hair brushing against Dave's knee when he leans in further. "They're just scars on my back, now. I'm guessing it's why mom gave me the knife."

 

"To protect you," Dave guesses, getting a nod from John in response. Dave thinks for a moment, before lightly ruffling John's hair with one hand and saying, "Maybe she knew you'd be with me. It doesn't sound so far off."

 

John laughs weakly at the notion. "Maybe. I wouldn't put it past her, and it's not like I know anyone else who's good at handling sharp objects."

 

"And, perhaps," Dave says, "you're meant to be with me." He takes a moment to let that sink in (mostly for John's sake) before hooking a hand under John's chin, tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "How about that?"

 

"You're a sap," John grumbles, face flushing red up to his ears as he leans back, letting his head rest on Dave's knee. "You won't leave?"

 

Dave makes a face at the very idea. "Why would I do that?"

 

"My life isn't very easy? I've only recently discovered that there are demons out to get me, just because I exist. It's not-" John sits up, removing his head from Dave's knee to rub at his face with one hand. "It's not exactly the ideal life."

 

"An ideal life is different for each person, and who says I don't like adventure?" Dave smirks when John turns to him with a choked up laugh. "We're soul mates, babe. You can't get rid of me, now that I know that I have your mom's blessing."

 

"It's only a theoretical blessing, considering how we're only relying on assumptions," John says, trying and failing to hide a hopeful grin. "And I told you: I hate being called babe."

 

"What, you don't appreciate how I'm emulating a stereotypically sexist jock-head douchebag?"

 

"It's not ironic, no matter how much you say it is," John says, leaning into Dave, laughing when Dave leans in at the same time and presses little kisses along his jaw. "Dave!"

 

"You're the muscle-head of the family, it's ironic," Dave says into John's neck, hiding a smile when John shivers at the vibrations of his lips on warm skin. He trails the kisses up to John's ear, his fingers toying with black locks as he says, "We'll get through this, John."

 

John nods, bringing a hand up and curling piano fingers around Dave's nape, before tugging him down into a kiss. He says, once Dave pulls away, "You think so?"

 

Dave grins, breathing in deeply as he nuzzles into John's hair. "I know so."

 

 

 

****

 

 

In a week, Dave learns everything (or as much of everything that can fit in his own head) that John knows about angels and their opposites.

  

It's the only reason he'll ever willingly offer his blood for what looks like a satanic ritual, to be honest. As soon as John mentions how runes are more effective when done with human blood, his brain somehow latches onto the information- which leads to the slice on his thigh, because John is a worrywart who doesn't want to scar his arms. 

 

He's just grateful that the damn things don't have to be outside the house, lest they want to be investigated by the police for starting up an occult in his apartment.

 

 

****

 

 

The problem comes when Dave and John realize how lacking they both are in the information department, considering how John only knows about runes and not about how to effectively kill off a demon- permanently.

 

So Dave calls Rose up, because she's a walking library of the occult, and isn't completely surprised when she greets him with actual information about demons and the wards against them. It's how John's secret of being only half-human is unintentionally revealed, and how they've also unintentionally gained another ally in this little war John has with the fallen.

 

"Salt is a spirit-repellent, these hex bags," Rose says while handing them two little lavender pouches, "are to cloak you from any supernatural beings, and the wards I've taught you are mostly for defensive cases, if you ever feel the need to interrogate a demon. Is that satisfactory as a summary, Dave?" Rose smiles at him then, and while Dave would usually find it eery (what with how she always looks like she knows something he doesn't), it's more a comfort in their current situation. 

 

"It's great," Dave says when John nudges him in the side. He glares at John through the corner of his eyes once Rose looks away, before leaning over and clutching onto his mug of apple juice and taking a deep gulp. "You won't tell anyone," he asks Rose once he's done swallowing, "right?"

 

"Of course I won't tell anyone," Rose says, looking at him, before turning to John with a too wide smile. "I wouldn't want to ruin the only functional romantic relationship you've ever had." Dave almost chokes on his juice at the words, instantly sending a glare in Rose's direction as he tries to gather his wits. He's infinitely not fast enough, not when Rose immediately adds, "You ought to bring Dave over more often, John. I'd like to talk about how my brother is doing these days- he tends to ignore my calls, although I think I can understand if it were for reasons involving you." 

 

"Uh, sure?" John says, smiling and looking completely oblivious as he drinks down his glass of apple juice.

 

Dave groans, because that's the only course of action possible in the face of Rose's nosiness. "Rose. Mind talking about the knife?" He waves it around for emphasis, to which Rose glares. 

 

"Don't treat it so carelessly," Rose huffs, before taking the knife from him. She looks at it from different angles, turning it up and down, looking closely at the handle, before making a bemused expression. While Dave would usually find satisfaction in seeing her so confused, it's not the best time, considering how there are assholes coming after John.

 

"I don't know of any runes like these," she says, while handing the knife back. "They're a little more customized to you, John. At least, that's what I'm assuming. They're not in the books that I've read. I do think it's possible to assume, though, that they're capable of severely harming demons and-or angels. "

 

"Why do you know so much, is the question I should definitely be asking," Dave says. John snorts at that, kicking Dave's foot from under the coffee table, which Dave answers with a little kick of his own.

 

"I've told you that I make my stories based on personal experiences," Rose says, the smile on her face looking more like a smirk when Dave looks a little closer. "You can assume from that what you will."

 

(It's how he finds out that his not-sister is a demon-hunter, and so is her real-sister, Roxy. Dave doesn't even want to bother asking what his brother's involvement with them is.)

 

 

****

 

 

"I think I get what you mean, now."

 

John blinks up at Dave from his place on Dave's lap. "What?"

 

"You said that you knew God exists, but you wished you could believe him."

 

"Oh." John pauses, contemplating, before saying, "What about you, Dave?"

 

"I'm questioning his existence." Dave admits, ignoring John's squawk-yelp as he continues, "Dude, come on. I don't think you've hurt anything in your whole life, and you're being targeted by demons just because you're the son of an ethereal being and a human. Doesn't sound fair to me."

 

"God exists," John says, nose scrunching up in defiance, which only makes him look adorable instead of intimidating. "I'm solid proof of that. Angels can't exist without Him, Dave."

 

"Maybe he's dead," Dave suggests. "It explains why karma isn't working nowadays."

 

"He's not dead!" John sits up, instantly away from Dave and sitting at the other end of the couch as he says, "You can't just- He's one of the reasons I'm still alive at all, and I-" he pauses, looking pained, "- I just keep being not good enough, and sinning, and-"

 

"Sinning," Dave repeats, looking incredulous. " _Sinning_? John, what the hell are you talking about-"

 

"I'm in love with you," John says- or blurts out, taking into account how scared he looks when the words fall from his mouth. "Dave, I- I didn't mean-"

 

Dave sucks in a breath, chest constricting with a stinging pain as the realization dawns on him. Really, he should've expected that- the notion of John considering this thing they have as a sin- considering how John is a literal angel. Or, at the least, half an angel. "No. No, man," Dave says, flinching when John reaches out to touch him. And if the words didn't hurt, the stricken look John gives him definitely does. He says, "You meant it. I know you did."

 

Suffice to say, it's their first intense fight in five years. 

 

 

****

 

 

 _Of -fucking-course_ , as life often goes, the demon comes to them when they still haven't made up.

 

"The nephilim got himself a fucktoy while I was off to catch bigger fish, did he?" The demon says after having found John in the convenience store, and somehow manhandling him into an abandoned warehouse. Although, John only figures that one out when he deigns himself not-dizzy enough to look around. "A male one too. You're just cropping up sins of your own, kid."

 

John pries himself out of the demon's grasp with a lot of struggling, which only proves effective when he gets a bite in on the demon's arm. " _Fuck_ , you little shit," the demon hisses. "I oughta-"

 

" _You_ ," John coughs as he stumbles away, eyes wide as he looks at the demon and feels all shades of sick and angry when he realizes that he's a familiar face. " You're the one-"

 

"-who did your God a favor by getting rid of the taboo pair." Jack Noir grins, showing off shark-like teeth as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a knife. "Now stay still so I can kill you."

 

"What the fuck is your problem?" John yelps, avoiding the swipe of the knife with a jump back. He dodges every attempted stab, every missed swipe, all with the swiftness he was born with- and that's a lot of fucking swiftness, considering his origins. (Angels were natural air-maneuverers, after all.). "Why the hell do you even care?" He yells, dodging another round of swipes and stabs. 

 

"I ain't gonna tell you my life story just so you'll understand how unfair life is, brat," Jack Noir says with a sneer, getting increasingly pissed off with each time John dodges the knife. "Stay still!"

 

"No!" John yells back, jumping to the left when Jack Noir tries to get a stab in. "What did my parents do to make you this angry? I didn't even do anything to you!"

 

"You exist," Jack Noir growls in answer, never stumbling as he chases after John with wide-range swipes of his knife. John thinks, more terrified than anything else, that this might be how he's going to die. He doesn't have any weapons, his runes are half-effective because he's only human, and all his preternatural skills are limited to defensive maneuvers. He's going to be literally dead a few minutes from now, he thinks, and it's scary and makes him angry- how he hasn't even made up with Dave yet, how he's going to die for reasons he doesn't even understand at the hands of a lower-class demon.

 

That thought instantly vanquishes itself when Jack Noir makes a choking sound, blood dripping from his mouth and dribbling down to his chin, his eyes wide with shock, his face frozen in its livid state even as he falls to the floor. The scene itself happens in slow motion when John focuses on it, his mind blanking for possible explanations, but the knife in Jack Noir's back glints- all familiarity and carved runes- and John feels a horrid sense of relief.

 

When he turns his eyes up, he sees Dave standing in front of him with the knife back in hand, in the place of Jack Noir, and it takes all of his will to stop himself from getting sick with the aftertaste of shock and horror in his mouth, just from the sight of a now-dead demon.

 

 

****

 

 

("Wear this," Rose says, slipping a necklace around John's neck, the pendant at the end of the silver loop glinting blue under the fluorescent light.

 

"What's it for?" John asks, using a hand to raise the gem a little closer to his line of vision. Rose is already busy rifling through a spell book when John looks up at her, the smile gone from her face when she, eventually, regards him once more.

 

"My sister doesn't have many good experiences when it comes to angels," Rose explains with the book still in one hand, turning lavender eyes to the door in case Dave comes back a little earlier with apple juice. He doesn't. "Despite the fact that you're only half an angel, I'd prefer staying safe and keeping that amulet on you. It's a tracking device of sorts, and it ascertains that it's you we're seeing on the map and not a rogue angel.")

 

 

****

 

 

Dave is instantaneously at John's side when he feels his legs weaken, his stick-thin arms as unusually strong as they always are when Dave uses them to hold him up. He's shaking still when Dave embraces him, and it's only when he hears Dave softly shushing him that he notices how he's babbling non-stop with apologies.

 

"Shhh, it's alright," Dave says, nosing at John's hair as he uses one hand to tuck his knife under his belt. "It's fine. I forgive you, crazy as you are."

 

"I'm not the one who killed a demon," John whispers, hiccuping a bit as he hides his face in the still clean portion of Dave's shirt.

 

"We're both crazy, how about that," Dave concedes. He lightly gestures with a wave of his hand at the definitely-dead Jack Noir."I guess we figured out what this knife can do."

 

"Yeah, I guess so," John agrees, struggling to keep in the laughter bubbling in his throat. But a small giggle comes out, then a chuckle, and suddenly he finds himself laughing for no reason at all in Dave's shirt, still murmuring inanities as he clutches onto Dave's back.

 

"They say lying with another man is a sin," John whispers after a while, softly giggling in Dave's shirt until he isn't. Dave holds him a little tighter at the notion, presses light kisses on John's hair as his own bony fingers run along John' nape. (They both know that John doesn't mean it anymore.)

 

"We both know that that doesn't really matter, at this point," Dave says. "Besides, I'm thinking killing a man ranks higher than sodomy, the latter something we've yet to even commit. I mean, I'm pretty sure the big man up high won't even care, considering how he-"

 

"-exists," John finishes, his teeth grazing Dave's neck in warning. "That's an argument you don't want to have with me again, Dave. Trust me."

 

John is tense in Dave's arms, half-expecting another argument, but Dave holds him closer and kisses his hair (says, "I know, John. I know."), his hands warm on John's back, and John lets go.

 

"I think it's time we burn the body, don't you?" Dave asks after a while of silence, pulling away from John and using his clean hand to tug out a vial from his pocket. The vial is transparent with a cross carved on the front of it, the liquid inside clear and, John is assuming, holy. It's not that hard to assume if he's going by the cross.

 

John grins a lopsided grin, before nodding and taking the vial off of Dave's hands. "Good thing holy oil burns easier on unholy bodies, huh?"

 

"You scare me sometimes, I hope you know," Dave says, making sure to neatly tuck in the knife under his belt, before pulling out a small lighter from his pocket. "That says a lot about me," he muses with his gaze turned away, before looking back to John and gesturing to the body on the floor. "Care to do the honors, John?"

 

John grins, a little less shaky and a bit more sure when he removes the cork on the vial. "Gladly."

 

 

****

 

 

It's definitely not their last time to burn a body, not when both of them get roped into Rose's business (with half of John's genes putting them both in mild danger), but that's fine.

 

At the least, life isn't boring. Not once.

 


End file.
